


A Winter's Breeze

by HedonistInk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cold Weather, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Snow, Temperature Play, snow spirit!Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:09:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedonistInk/pseuds/HedonistInk
Summary: Marco had only been trying to get to the little shrine up the mountain to leave the offering his family did every year. He never expected to get lost in the woods on his way there. And he certainly never expected to be found and saved by a man with warm amber eyes and a warm laugh that contrasted the chill of his snow white skin.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romupi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romupi/gifts).



> For the lovely Romupi. I love your artstyle and it's always been a pleasure seeing your work on my dash. When I read your snow spirit Jean prompt, I fell in love with it. I hope I've done it justice! 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are very much appreciated!

Cold. 

Very, very cold. 

The cold bit into Marco's skin through the thick coat he was bundled up in. His breaths puffed out in small white clouds with each step that he took, trudging through the ankle-deep snow. All he'd been told to do was to go halfway up the mountain to the little shrine, leave an offering, and then head back home. That was all he had to do. 

Marco tugged his coat tighter around himself, making sure the pack was still secure on his back. 

Their family always did it, had always done it. Three times every winter, they would bring an offering to the shrine. It had been his father's job when Marco was younger. But when his father died, it became his grandfather's job again. Growing up he'd been told that he would be shown the path and taught the proper traditions when he turned eighteen and that then he would take over and the job would be his. 

But his grandfather had died only a few months before that birthday had come, not even a year ago. And suddenly the burden was on Marco with almost no instructions. He knew  _ what _ he was supposed to bring as the offering. His mother had helped him with that much and with memorizing the prayer he was supposed to say when he left it. And he had a crudely drawn map he'd cobbled together with the rough location of the little shrine he was looking for. But that was as much as he had to go on. 

And every tree seemed to look the same by the time he was a quarter of the way up the mountain. 

Marco wasn't sure when the last time he had properly felt his toes was but it had probably been well over an hour. Tugging one heavy glove off with his teeth and holding it there, he dug the map out of his pocket, squinting at it through the snow melting on his eyelashes. He was  _ sure _ he should have seen the cracked boulder that was on the map by now. Marco shoved the map back into his pocket and tugged his glove back on before setting out again. 

After the third time passing the same large, old, carved stump, Marco collapsed himself down onto it. He was lost. He was  _ really _ lost. That… wasn't good. He needed help. But there was no way he was going to find help around here. He should have been able to do this. He should have been able to handle this responsibility. But instead… He was lost. In the middle of nowhere. On a snowy mountain. Maybe when night came, he'd be able to see the lights of the town. 

With a forlorn groan, Marco tugged off his pack, flopping onto his back on the old stump. "I really messed up…" Marco half-whined to the empty air. 

"Did you now…?" An almost smug voice from a few feet away had the freckled teen jolting, sitting up and whipping his head around. 

"Wh… what!? Where did… where did you come from?" Marco blinked at the figure, rubbing at his eyes before staring again, or more accurately gawking. "No no, this… this has to be hypothermia. I'm hallucinating." 

There was a man standing a few feet away from Marco's stump--Marco wasn't quite sure when he'd taken possession of the stump, but it was his stump now--dressed in what looked like a yukata. His skin was pale, lips an intense red, and hair a two-toned mis-match of lighter blond on top and darker at the sides. A man in a traditional summer outfit in the middle of a snowy mountainside? Marco was clearly suffering from hypothermia. He was going to die on this mountain. The softly falling snow that was coming down was supposed to be the starting edge of a worse storm by the next morning. They probably wouldn't even find his body until the spring thaw. Marco collapsed back onto his stump, groaning as he buried his frozen cheeks in his equally cold gloves. 

"I promise you're not hallucinating," the hallucination protested. 

"So says the hallucination." 

"You look cold." 

"I've been wandering around out here for hours. I'm freezing." There was no harm in admitting it to a hallucination. It was already inside his head, anyway, so it already knew that, Marco reasoned. "And there you are dressed like it's the middle of August." 

The hallucination let out a withering sigh and Marco felt remarkably judged by his own self-conscious mind. "Okay, Freckles, get up. There's a cabin just past those trees over there. Let's get you warmed up before you really  _ do _ start hallucinating." 

"Can I just freeze here on my stump in peace?" 

"First off, that's  _ my _ stump, not yours. Second off, I don't want some human frozen onto it all winter. And third off, you called me here. So get up, Freckles." 

There was the sound of crunching footsteps on snow and then the dull pain of a kick at Marco's ankle. Marco blinked up into the darkness of his gloves before dropping his hands away and sitting up to find the strange blond man having moved closer, arms crossed as he glared down at Marco. That kick had certainly  _ felt _ real. He blinked again. 

"What do you mean  _ your _ stump?" 

"I mean it's got my name on it? It's my stump." The stranger gestured at the carvings on the side of the stump and Marco hopped off of the piece of wood to look at them more closely. 

"This is just a bunch of swirls and patterns." 

"It's my name. Well… Not a name exactly. A… callsign? It's how a traveler would call for me. I haven't heard anything in a long time though. And then you showed up and started whining on my stump." He clapped his hands together. "So. You asked for help. I'm here to help. Grab your pack, it's this way." Without further waiting, the man turned and trudged off through the snow. 

Marco blinked at his retreating form for a moment before hurrying to grab his pack and follow after him. He wasn't sure why he was following a hallucination even farther off the path--probably, maybe; he wasn't exactly sure where the path had gotten off to--but there he was. 

After a few minutes of picking through the trees, the underbrush gave way to a small clearing, easily fifteen meters across in any direction. And at the center of it sat a cabin, small and unassuming, but obviously sturdy and well-kept. 

Marco stumbled as he stared, slowing to a stop with hands fidgeting against the straps of his pack. "That's… a cabin…" 

"I told you." The man remarked with a wave over his shoulder before pointing to the side of the cabin. "Now grab some firewood when you come in. You look half-frozen." 

Marco stood there staring at the cabin for a few long minutes before a drop of melted water found its way down the side of his neck. Shivering, he hurried over to the pile grabbing as many logs as he could in one arm before heading in through the door the other man had gone into. 

The strange hallucination--although Marco was starting to have to admit he didn't seem like a hallucination--was poking at the fireplace, a small fire looking like it had just been started, only beginning to eat at the few large logs there. "Sorry it's not warmed up in here yet. I don't really need it, I just come here to keep out of the wind." 

Marco shook his head, setting the logs down by the door. He tugged off his boots rather than tracking snow everywhere, shivering at the cold wood under his feet before moving to sit on the thick animal pelt carpet in front of the fire, feet tucked under him. Marco pulled off his gloves next, setting them down on the side farther from the stranger and rubbing his hands together before holding them up in front of the fire and repeating the process a few times. Oh it felt good to feel his fingertips again. "No. It's… definitely a lot better in here than out there. Thank you. I…" Marco paused and frowned, gesturing at the other's outfit. "Excuse me but… how aren't you frozen?" 

"This is normal for me, Freckles. It's a nice day out today." 

"It's snowing and you weren't even wearing boots," Marco deadpanned. "Or proper pants. Or a coat." 

"I'm not human like you." 

The man--or… not a man--had said it so casually and Marco froze in the middle of rubbing his hands together. "What? You're… what… s-some kind of demon? Are you going to eat me?" Marco tried to ignore the hint of fear that had crept into his voice. The idea was absurd, demons were the stuff of fairytales, not  _ reality. _ But there this man was in his absurd yukata, apparently not cold wandering around in the snow and talking about scribbles on a stump being his name. 

"Ugh," the stranger scoffed, "don't insult me. I'm not going to  _ eat _ you. And technically I'm Yōkai, not a demon. A snow spirit." 

Marco stiffened. He'd heard the legends about snow spirits, yuki-onna, the snow women. But this man was… very much not a woman. Although he supposed there was no real reason why he would have to be, if he thought about it. But yuki-onna… They were supposed to freeze lost travelers, not help them, weren't they? Or drain their spirit? 

"Are… are you going to kill me?" 

With a tired groan, the man flopped back, leaning on his hands. "I'm not going to kill you or eat you or any of that. That's all fairytales. I just help people who get lost. You saw my stump. It's not my fault if they don't take my advice sometimes." 

He certainly  _ looked _ honest enough. And… sort of unconventionally handsome with the light of the fire flickering against the long lines of his face. Marco frowned at the thought as soon as it entered his mind. No, he wasn't allowed to find the demon--Yōkai,  _ whatever _ \--attractive. No matter how true it was. Marco bit his lip, looking away. 

"Oh… Well… thank you? That's… very nice of you. How… can I thank you?" Marco moved to tug off his wet hat now that the room was starting to warm up. 

With a bored handwave, the man looked at the ceiling as he answered. "You can stay the night until it's safe to travel. Sometime when the weather is clear, leave an offering for me on the stump or something. That's how this usually goes." He looked down and back at Marco when he was done talking, blinking for a minute before snickering. "Your hair's a mess, you know." 

Marco blushed, running his hands through his hair as he tried to flatten it quickly. "Do you… at least have something I can call you? Not your name, just… something?" He knew better than to ask for a demon's name. He wouldn't get a straight answer anyway and he'd already offended the stranger once. 

The man looked as if he was about to respond before pausing, frowning, and pursing his lips. Marco almost thought he wasn't going to get an answer when the man finally spoke up again. "...J. Just J is good enough." 

Marco's breaths still puffed out in gentle bursts of white in the chilled air of the cabin. "J then." He shivered slightly, curling up closer into himself. 

J was watching him, watching him very closely. Marco hadn't noticed the gold of his eyes before, sitting just on the borderline between natural and unnatural. It was… slightly unsettling. 

Yet Marco strangely also wasn't scared. He had no reason to trust that the other man wouldn't eat him, not with how spirits and demons were known for trickery. And yet… he did. He trusted in that idea completely. He was going to be fine. "S-so if you're not going to eat me then… what do we do now…?" 

J shrugged, turning sideways and gesturing at the spot on the ceiling where their shadows were being cast. He lifted his other hand and contorted his fingers, a rough approximation of a wolf face popping up on the ceiling, opening and closing its jaw a few times. "Shadow puppets?" 

Marco snorted with a roll of his eyes before freezing at the way the other man deflated. "Oh. Oh you were serious? I'm so sorry. I just… I didn't think you would…" Trailing off and biting his lip, Marco looked away, contorting his own hand to cast a rough rabbit shadow. Marco pitched his voice up, hopping the rabbit along. "What he means is he's a big dork and secretly thinks that sounds like fun." 

There was a brief silence and Marco didn't dare to look for a moment but when he finally did, the stranger looked so genuinely  _ happy _ that it made Marco's heart flutter with how contagious it was, a far cry from the neutral flatness or bemused smirks the snow spirit had shown up to that point. 

They dissolved into trading shadow-puppet stories after that. Jean's stories sounded more like ancient legends and lore while Marco's were lighter, the more 'modern' and 'kid friendly' take on the stories. Small facts and snippets about themselves slipped in here and there as commentary, occasionally dissolving into longer conversations about this topic or that. Jean was nice to talk to, blunt about some things but cautious about others. Marco slowly started to peel off some of his layers of clothing as he warmed up, eventually winding up with only one sweater, the shirt and undershirt beneath it, his pants, and his socks. The pile of discarded clothing next to him had grown dramatically into more of a heap. 

After what could have been two hours or four, Marco's exhaustion finally caught up with him. He couldn't help starting to slump off between stories, his laughs becoming more sleep-dazed and his stories more incoherent. He found himself being half-pushed and half-shoved over to some kind of a bed and fell into it without protest, quickly drifting into unconsciousness. 

When the morning came, Marco groaned, rolling over and attempting to sink deeper into his bed. But… his bed was furry instead of cotton sheets? Marco let out a confused and groggy sound, rubbing at his eyes. He was on a traditional futon on the floor, with a fur over it and another over him as a blanket. 

_ Oh. Right. _

Marco looked around the cabin in surprise. It hadn't been a dream. And he hadn't been dying of hypothermia. This was… it was real. 

"The sleeping princess awakens…" The now familiar amused voice of his new friend droned from somewhere to his side and Marco turned to watch J poking at a pot over the fire. "I hope oatmeal is okay? I don't… cook very often, you know." Right. Marco remembered that having come up the night before. Jean didn't really _need_ to eat but that he _could_ and that he enjoyed it when he _did._ _And_ apparently Jean had a particular weakness for sweets. 

"It's perfect." Marco shook his head, distracted by the more important and jarring thing: "You're… you're real." 

"Really really real," J confirmed with a slight smirk, scooping some of the mixture in the pot into a bowl. He offered it over and Marco moved to take it. 

Marco couldn't help but settle his fingers over the other man's, gasping slightly in surprise and wonder at the cool feeling of his skin. "...Wow. That's…  _ cool. _ " 

J scoffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. "No points for originality on that one, sorry. Go on and eat, Freckles. We need to get you going if you're going to give that offering at the shrine and get back down the mountain before the real snow hits." 

Marco didn't argue, not wanting to get caught in the snow and get lost again. 

After eating quickly and thanking his new friend at least four times too many, Marco bundled himself back up into his layers and layers of extra clothing. And then they were off. J led Marco first back to the stump, then from the stump back to the path so he would be able to find the way again--Marco paused to mark off the stump on his map--, and then up the mountain to the shrine. Marco gave the prayers and traditions his best effort, leaving the offering and heading back out of the shrine. J led him back down the path again, pausing at the point where he would have to veer off for the stump. Marco thanked him easily another dozen times as the other man waved his thanks off casually. Finally, J turned to leave. 

Marco hesitated before calling out after the retreating figure. "I-It's Marco, by the way." 

J froze mid-step before turning around. "Excuse me?" 

"My name… It's… it's Marco." Telling his name to the other man was probably a very bad idea. Who even knew what he could do with it. 

J frowned at him, pursing his lips as his eyes narrowed in that assessing way as though Marco were some puzzle he was trying to figure out. Finally after almost a minute, he spoke. "...Jean." 

The sound of the name made Marco's heart flip slightly and he smiled. "It was nice meeting you, Jean. When… When I come back to leave you something… Can… Can I see you again?" 

Eyes going wide for a moment with surprise, Jean let out a sound between a disbelieving scoff and a genuine laugh. "Sure, Marco. Just whine at my stump again when you come back and I'll be there in a heartbeat." 

Marco tried to watch as Jean walked away but a flurry of wind gusted up and kicked the snow up with it. 

When it faded, Jean was just… gone. As if he'd never been there at all. 

Marco couldn't deny he had a spring in his step as he picked his way carefully back down the rest of the mountain. 

Marco came back a few days later as he had promised, an offering of sweets and candies tucked away in his pack for Jean, remembering how they'd talked about his fondness for sweet treats. He had also brought some snacks for himself just in case he stayed longer than expected.  

The snow spirit had shown up within a few minutes of Marco calling for him at the stump. Marco presented his gift and watched with amusement as he picked through it excitedly. When the freckled teen had started to shiver from the cold, Jean led him back to the cabin again. This time the fire was already lit, the chill gone from the cabin so that it was only cool and not cold and Marco had to be suspicious that Jean had hoped he would come back to the cabin. But he wasn't complaining. They spent the evening talking and telling stories and laughing until it was too late for Marco to head back. So again he spent the night. 

After that, every Monday and Thursday, Marco would bundle up into all of his layers of shirts, sweaters, and coats, and head out. His mother only asked once where he kept disappearing off to. When he'd answered that he was going to see a dear friend, an almost knowing twinkle had glinted in her eye. Marco hadn't dared to question it. 

The winter passed both all too quickly and yet slow enough to appreciate. Jean was always waiting there for him at the carved stump, his bright white yukata still much too unseasonable for the snow on the ground around them. Jean had even helped to correct his pronunciation on the old prayers when the second and third times to give the offering to the small shrine had come around. Marco liked their routine. But he liked his new friend even more. Maybe even liked him as more than just a friend. But it wasn't like anything could come of that. After all, Marco was human and Jean was… very much not. 

Slowly, Marco's layers started to disappear as the spring came and he needed less under the jacket to keep him warm. The path became easier to travel as the snow started to melt away, getting less deep. 

Lying sprawled across the floor of the small cabin one night, trading stories and making shadow puppets on the ceiling with the light from the small fire, Marco could tell that the other man was…  _ tense _ , easily distracted, not himself. "...Jean…? Is… everything okay…?" 

"I…" Jean started before hesitating. 

Marco sat up then. Jean not being able to find his words wasn't like him. Jean just  _ talked. _ He didn't falter like this unless it was something sensitive that he didn't know how to touch on. 

"I need to leave soon." 

"Wh--already? It's not even five o'clock yet! Normally we--" 

"Not… not like that, Marco. I'll stay the night with you, like we usually do. I mean… I need to leave because… Because summer is coming." When Marco froze, Jean reached out, taking the other's warmer hands into his own cold ones. "Normally I would have already left two weeks ago when the spring equinox came but…" 

_ But I stayed because of you. _ The implication was crystal clear even if the blond man didn't say it aloud. Jean was  _ leaving. _ Jean was going to  _ leave _ him. 

"...Oh. Oh I… I see…" Marco nodded minutely, wrapping his other hand around Jean's and squeezing. The hurt was clear in his voice, no matter how he tried to disguise it. "A-and… if you didn't leave…?" 

"I… I'd get really sick, Marco. I have to go." 

Marco felt like a fool. Of course Jean had to leave. He was a  _ snow _ spirit. He wasn't built for summertime. 

"I'll come back!" Jean's tone was obviously trying to reassure him. "I'll come back. I promise. After the fall equinox. When the weather starts to turn." 

Marco bit his lip, nodding quietly. "I believe you." He really, really did. "It's just… that's… It's a long time. ...I'll miss you." 

Jean sighed, tangling their fingers together, cold and warm digits slotting together. "I know. I'll miss you too, miss our stories. But it won't be that long, really. You'll see." 

"Jean I…" Marco started but faltered. What could he even say that would express how he felt? Rather than trying again to find words he didn't have, he leaned forward instead, shutting his eyes and catching Jean's lips with his own. The cool feeling of the other man's lips startled him almost as much as the kiss itself seemed to startle Jean, both of them giving a soft gasp. 

Jean pulled back, blinking at Marco, golden gaze wide with surprise as he reached up to touch his lips in disbelief. "...You just kissed me." 

"...I did." Marco sounded almost as surprised to his own ears as Jean had, reaching up to touch his own lips. "Your lips are colder than your fingers. That's cool." It wasn't like kissing something frozen, really, more like kissing something that had just been in the fridge. 

Jean snorted slightly, shaking his head and squeezing Marco's hand with cool fingers where they were intertwined. "Snow spirit, remember? Everything about me is cool, Marco. ...No one's ever… done that before, you know. Kissed me, I mean. You're so  _ warm. _ " 

"Oh…" Never? Marco hoped he hadn't done anything wrong, hoped Jean wasn't saving it or something. "Was it… okay? I've never… kissed anyone either." 

"I… I think it was. But…" Jean hesitated, gaze flicking between Marco's eyes and lips. He leaned in slightly. "M-maybe you should do it again. ...Just to be sure." 

Marco couldn't help but laugh at the thinly-veiled request, face hot with a blush. "Just to be sure, huh?" When Jean nodded, Marco leaned forward again, less hesitant this time as he caught the other's lips with his own, movements soft but certain. 

Jean pressed back after a moment, his free hand coming up to cup at Marco's cheek, sending a noticeable shiver up the freckled teen's spine that made him gasp into the kiss. Taking his opportunity, Jean darted his tongue out, licking against Marco's lips. 

Marco's hand shot out to grab at the cloth covering Jean's side. His lips parted on a surprised noise as the other man deepened the kiss, cool tongue meeting his own heated one. It was strange, a feeling that was so chilled to the touch was still setting him alight inside in his very veins. He responded eagerly, meeting every movement with one of his own. It was… kind of like sucking on an ice pop but not quite as cold. 

When he pulled away to breathe, Marco's lips felt a strange combination of warm and cool, tingling slightly with the way the blood had rushed to them. His gaze flicked down to Jean's lips, finding them even more unnaturally red than usual, before he looked back up at the other's eyes, finding an intensity to them that had Marco blushing. "...Well?" 

"More than okay," Jean confirmed. He sounded breathless, a fact that sent a small thrill through Marco's body. It felt good to hear Jean sounding as completely taken off-guard as Marco himself felt. "Can I… do that again?" 

Breath catching in his throat, Marco nodded. 

When Jean leaned in this time, Marco was prepared for it. He let his eyes fall shut without hesitation, lips moving against the other man's as he reveled in the unnatural-seeming cold sensation. The hand that Jean had on Marco's cheek drifted down to his neck and then to his shoulder, drawing up goosebumps in the wake of its path across his skin. 

Suddenly, the pressure on his shoulder increased and Marco found himself being shoved onto his back, landing on the plush carpet with a soft grunt and gasp. He blinked up at Jean looming above him, the other man's weight half on top of him as he all but straddled him on the floor. 

Seeming to realize what he'd done only after it was done, Jean froze in place. "S-sorry I didn't mean to-- _ mfff!" _

Marco cut him off quickly, hands moving up to the front of Jean's yukata to tangle in his shirt and tug him down into another kiss. It seemed all the more intense with the other man's weight pressing against his thighs on either side, the solid form of his body keeping him against the floor. Marco's hands started to wander, up to Jean's shoulders and back down to his chest before slipping under his shirt, marveling at the feeling of cool skin under his fingertips. 

For his part, Jean's hands hesitated before his left hand moved to slip down between them to Marco's waist. The freckled man felt a slight tug at his undershirt and then a cold hand was splayed against his ribs. Gasping, Marco arched up against the contact with a shocked moan. He wondered what it would be like to have those fingers lower, to feel them wrapping around the hot skin of his cock. 

Jean pulled back quickly, looking apologetic. "S-sorry… Is it… too cold?" 

Marco shook his head quickly. "N-no… feels good. Keep going… please." Marco emphasized his words by tugging at Jean's clothes, pulling at the yukata and shoving it off of his shoulders, palms dragging across cool skin. 

Shutting his eyes, Jean moaned quietly, pushing into the contact against his skin. "M-marco… F-feels like you're on fire." 

Marco leaned up, catching Jean in another, messier kiss as he brushed against one cool nipple with the pad of his thumb, drawing out another moan. That seemed to spur Jean into action as the other man's hand slipped back up Marco's shirt, cool fingertips finding his nipple as well. The sensitive nub hardened under Jean's touch as Marco let out a quiet groan, eyes clenched tightly shut as his body thrummed with overwhelmed sensation. His hips bucked slightly, the friction that sparked between them surprising both of them and drawing out mirroring surprised sounds of pleasure. 

"Is this… okay…?" Marco asked hesitantly, pulling back. 

Jean nodded eagerly and Marco could swear there was a tint of pink to his pale cheeks. "Yes… So much yes. Just… K-keep going…" His hips rolled back down against Marco's and his voice dissolved into a moan, a similar sound drawing out from the freckled teen under him. 

Before long, Marco's hands were moving to fumble at the waist of Jean's yukata while Jean's fumbled at his belt. It didn't take long until they were both undressed, the slight space between them seeming like a vast chasm rather than a few breaths, the tension taut. 

Marco tugged Jean down and the tension snapped with the shaky groans that escaped them both at the contact of so much cool and warm skin. Small praises and surprised, awed whispers traded between them as they started to grind against each other again. The cool press of Jean's cock against his own heated length had Marco groaning, twitching and shivering. 

Jean, for his part, didn't seem to be in a much better state. Glazed golden eyes fluttered somewhere around halfway open as he rocked their hips together. His face was definitely flushed now. 

Marco couldn't resist bringing a hand up to touch at his cheek, feeling the tiniest warmth under the cool surface. His hand slipped lower, down along Jean's neck and against his chest. He could feel the racing beat of the other man's heart. Rolling them onto their sides, Marco found it easier to return the motions, his hand slipping lower to wrap around both of their cocks, messy and unpracticed jerking joining the mix of rutting hips. 

"M-Marco… I… I'm…" 

"I know… I know… I'm… too…" Marco groaned, shutting his eyes tightly. "Jean… f-feels good… S-so cold but… Nh…"

It wasn't long before the both of them were cumming hard, Jean first and Marco only a few strokes behind. 

Marco woke up warm and chilly both at once from the combination of the blanket having apparently been pulled over him at some point and the fact that Jean was curled up at his side, the both of them in a tangle of limbs. Six months. Six months of not being able to see Jean, to talk to him, to touch him. Memories of the night before flooded his thoughts and he shivered pleasantly, the movement rousing Jean with a quiet groan. 

Neither of them were much for lengthy goodbyes. Not really. They ate together, traded quiet words and a few more warm-cold kisses, and Marco bundled up into his layers of clothing before they headed for the stump. Jean waffled back and forth, leaving Marco's side and coming back to him no less than three times. Finally, on the edge of tears, Marco grabbed the front of Jean's yukata, yanked him in for a harsh kiss, and shoved him away, telling him to get going so he could get back sooner. 

It was only six months. 

It would pass quickly enough. 

When the fall equinox came, everyone else was down in town at the festival. The lights were pretty and the sounds were warm and welcoming. 

But Marco had somewhere else to be. 

Bundled up in several layers, Marco set out up the mountain. He had a stash of sweet treats, a mixture of misshapen pieces or extras from the ones his mother had made to sell at her stand tucked into his bag. He did feel  _ a bit _ bad about leaving her to tend the stall alone but she had waved him off. Instead, she had shoved the bag of candies at him, insisting that he go see the boy he hadn't been able to stop talking about all summer, twice as often after the summer solstice when he started counting down the days more blatantly. 

Reaching their meeting place, Marco found no sign of his snow spirit and tried to ignore the way his heart plummeted in his chest. They had never really talked about a time, after all. Marco had no idea when Jean would be coming back. Just 'the equinox'. It was an entire day. Marco could wait. He could be patient. 

Sitting on Jean's stump, Marco tucked his legs up underneath him as he waited. 

And waited. 

And… waited. 

As the sun dipped under the horizon, Marco was starting to give up hope. It was dark and he would have to walk home in the dark. The bag in his lap felt suddenly all the more heavy, weighted down by the things meant for Jean. 

A cool breeze tickled at his throat and Marco shivered before a voice reached his ears, making his body jolt in surprise and his breath hitch. "Sorry I kept you waiting." 

" _ Jean! _ " Heart thudding against the inside of his ribs with overflowing joy, Marco spun, all but launching himself off the stump and at the other man. He paid no attention to the way his pack fell from his lap, or the way that Jean grunted at the impact instead far too focused on wrapping his arms tightly around Jean and burying his face against the cool skin of his neck. "Missed you…" His words were muffled, muttered where his face was pressed against Jean's skin. 

Jean's arms wrapped around Marco's waist, pulling him even closer. "I missed you too, Freckles." 

Pulling back, Marco's gaze scanned Jean's features, taking in everything about him for the first time in months before settling on the warmth in his eyes, the spark in them that seemed to melt the chill in his bones. He leaned in to capture Jean's lips with his own, not closing his eyes until the last moment before their lips met, the familiar coolness of the contact sending a shiver up his spine. 

When Marco moved to lick across the seam of Jean's lips, the other man let out a surprised sound, pulling back. 

"Jean is everything--" he started to ask but Jean cut him off quickly. 

"Sorry, I just… forgot how  _ warm _ you were." Jean's tone held a bashful note as he brought a hand up to cup at Marco's cheek, leaning in to press their foreheads together. "I'm sorry I had to be gone so long, Marco." 

Marco chuckled as he nuzzled the tip of his nose against Jean's cheek with a soft, pleased smile. Yes, he knew Jean would have to leave again come spring. But that was six months away. And they had a whole lot of winter to make the most of before then. "Welcome home, Jean." 


End file.
